


Holding Back

by LiamLogan



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Fluff, Hurt and comfort, Logince - Freeform, M/M, One Shot, Trans Logic | Logan Sanders, Trans Male Character, logan and roman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2020-02-29 15:41:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18781252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiamLogan/pseuds/LiamLogan
Summary: When Roman is confronted by Patton and Virgil for being treated differently by Logan, he is confused: Logan, with his endless pages of writing, seems to displeased when he overhears the conversation, and takes Roman up to his room. Angst and fluff ensues.





	Holding Back

He hasn’t slept for a week, he looks as pale as a vampire but acts as feral as a werewolf. When he does decide to emerge from his room, the rest of us fall silent and watch with unease and fascination, observing his every move to see what he’s doing. We do not speak unless spoken to, and we do not move unless asked to do. Logan is far from controlling, aggressive, or totalitarian, but he is an enigma. Unpredictable, clever, and the embodiment of ‘if looks could kill’, we watch him like a family would watch a lion at a zoo: with excited anticipation.  
His footsteps make no noise, but I know he paces. He writes and he writes, the sound of a pen scratching against paper is so constant, that I no longer find solace in silence, but in Logan’s work, and so ingrained in my mind that I can almost tell exactly what he’s writing just from hearing him write it. He doesn’t believe me, but he doesn’t want to experiment in case I prove him wrong- he hates being corrected, least of all by me.  
Patton spends most of his time outside, going for walks or visiting libraries and animal shelters. Even in the rain, there’s a good chance we can find him sipping hot chocolate in a café somewhere with a cupcake by his side. I’m not sure what Virgil does, exactly, but it’s usually on his phone. He likes to go for walks, too, but not so much to visit but more to escape. To be by himself, in his own world, and spend some time in his own company. We never see Logan anymore. We all know that he’s in his room at his desk, but where is he in his mind? I’ve no clue. I just don’t think it’s here, and I don’t think Logan wants us to know.  
I asked him, once, what he writes. He told me to mind my own business with a look of ‘my work is too complex for you’ and turned away from me to make a coffee. He blushed and grinned, too, but he tried to hide it. He hides a lot of things (such as that book I lent him last month), but anything that happens outside of his own room is always noticed by someone. There’s no hiding outside his room.  
I do wish, though, that he’d let us know what he’s thinking sometimes; when Patton is excitedly talking about a serendipity involving some dogs, or when Virgil is on the verge breaking down, or when I’m crying from listening to Hamilton for the eighth time, he cocks his head, leans forward, and squints as if to get a better view. It’s as if he doesn’t know what he’s seeing, or he’s curious by it. As we all know here, such a gesture is synonymous with ‘how interesting’. I don’t want to believe it, but I don’t think he is the emotionless computer he wants us to believe. Somehow, I think he’s worse. I wish he would just let me know.  
Recently, he’s been getting worse; he only comes out of his room once or twice a day and he moves with such haste, one would think he’s in a hurry to get something done, and we’re all left to ponder at what could be so important to need his constant attention.  
“He’s so diligent,” remarks Virgil as we hear Logan’s door slam shut after he rushed to have a glass of water, “it makes me wonder what he’d do if he ever stopped.”  
“Well…” Patton replies thoughtfully. He pauses. “I think we’re lucky that he’s projecting his sagacity onto such a harmless hobby as writing. He could make himself into a terrible person if he turned his energy towards that.” I was unaware that Patton knew such a word as ‘sagacity’. I think it means wisdom, but I’m not too sure- Logan would definitely know. I’ve read the word a multitude of times in books and play scripts, but I’ve never looked up the definition. I start to lose focus, my eyes being tired but my mind active and alive, I start to imagine in vivid detail a world wherein Logan is a lawyer or solicitor or something of the sort and I get to help him. I stay in such a state for a seemingly long time, and only return to reality when I notice them staring at me with expressions of expectation.  
“Roman? Hello?” Teases Patton, giggling.  
“Sorry, I was in my own world. What did you say?” I ask as I can feel blood rise to my cheeks. I blush easily. I hate it.  
“I said: what do you think he’s doing up there?” Virgil says, obviously annoyed but even more obviously exaggerating his annoyance in his voice.  
“He just writes, and paces sometimes. How would I know what he does? He didn’t tell me when I asked, just said to mind my own business.” I reply.  
“Yeah, well, you do have a habit of asking intrusive questions.” Snarls Virgil. I ignore him and turn my attention to the sanguine Patton.  
“Couldn’t you talk to him?” I ask. “I mean… He seems to be more open with you about things, he might tell you if you ask.” And, even though I’m not talking to him, Virgil looks downright offended at my suggestion, as if I suggested we all walk into his room and set his papers aflame.  
“What? You really think that? I think he’s more open with you, Roman.”  
“Yeah, I’d agree with that, strangely.” Virgil says. I’m perplexed: is there really that obvious of a difference in his interactions with me and anyone else that they both seem to have noticed? If so, why haven’t I?  
“Oh, and that’s just in front of us…” Patton smirks, his eyes casting a devilish, childlike glance to Virgil who, despite usually reserving facial expression for anger, also cannot help but let a grin slide.  
“What are you implying?” I ask, my head being filled with surreptitious ideas that seem to be alluding to Logan revealing some kind of mystery- telling me what he’s writing, perhaps.  
“If Logan’s more open to you even in front of us, how open will he be when you’re alone with him?” Explains Virgil.  
“But I don’t think he is more open with me!” I protest. That’s when I notice their eyes drop to the floor and twitches of guilt and embarrassment. Sure enough, when I turn around, Logan is stood with his arms crossed and his hair in a mess, but his tie in an immaculate knot, as if he’s just tied it now.  
“Neither do I.” He says sternly and through gritted teeth. My suspicions start to grow further when neither Patton nor Virgil grovel for him; Patton hates upsetting people and Virgil is always scared that people hate him and usually apologise to Logan for any mild inconvenience, begging for his forgiveness. Now that they’re not, I could guess that this has been set up by the three of them. However, not wanting to make potentially disastrous presumptions, I acquiesce to Logan.  
“Well,” I stutter after a few moments, “that’s okay.” He remains his ever-expressionless self, and I dare not avert my eyes from his warm glare, despite the chokes of laughter and supressed squeals I can hear from behind me. Suddenly, he grabs my hand and drags me away, out the room, up the stairs, and into his room. Slamming the door, he takes a deep breath, and utters out an exasperated apology. He stands awkwardly at the door, swaying, as I try not to gawk at the absolute mess that is his room: paper and books and ink stains are scattered all over the floor and any surface available, even on half his bed; along with a myriad of water bottles and packets of salad, his room would even be messy from me, but it’s made all the more worse considering I’ve always thought Logan to be something of a perfectionist.  
“Why are you rubbing your hand like that?” I ask him. He glances down nervously, supresses a smile, before replying.  
“Nervous tick, I suppose.” An awkward silence ensues, and neither of us move. I open my mouth to speak, but can’t think of anything to say. Instead, he takes over. “Listen, about what happened down there, I know I’m more open to you than the other two, I can’t help it. There’s just something about you that makes me think it’s easier to talk…” He pauses, takes a sharp intake of breath, and rubs his shoulder instead. He could be crying, but he isn’t shaking like how he normally does when he cries- I say, as if he cries often. I only saw him cry once: he came home one day sobbing but ran upstairs and hid before anyone could find out why. I still don’t know, to this day.  
“Logan, how long have you been binding?” I ask. He was meant to have a surgery last year, but Patton got really sick the week before, so he cancelled so that he could pay the hospital bills for him. I heard that one shouldn’t bind for more than eight hours a day- which, despite Logan always advocating strictly for obedience to rules and guidelines and demanding the best for our health, doesn’t stop him from doing so every waking moment.  
“Well…” He hesitates and blushes.  
“How long? In hours?” I clarify, otherwise he’ll give me the answer in minutes and, by the time I’ve calculated that it’s been too long, he’ll disappear. I notice him counting on his fingers. There’s a word for that.  
“What’s twenty four times four?” He asks innocently. Nervously, actually. His eyes look glassy and he’s folding himself up to make himself seem small.  
“No way. Ninety six? Are you kidding me?” I try not to explode, because he’ll think I’m angry, but it’s hard to contain myself when my idol and friend is acting so irresponsibly- and it is surely a desperate situation when I become the voice of reason.  
“I’m sorry, I’ve been busy and just… Forgot?”  
“Aren’t you in pain?”  
“I wouldn’t be if you hadn’t made me pay attention to it.”  
“Logan, please!” I beg. For what, I do not know. I don’t expect him to strip down while I’m here, but just for him to concede would be enough.  
“Roman, you don’t understand- you can’t understand- the pain I have to go through every single day. Yeah, it hurts and bruises and leaves me breathless, but what’s the alternative? Hate myself and my existence? Yeah, no thanks.” He retorts. He does know how to make me shut up.  
“I’m sorry.” Because it’s all I can think to say. I step out and reach to pat his shoulder reassuringly. I can feel him tense up. I retreat, but he grabs my hand and glances frantically between me and his shoulder.  
“What?” He asks. His breathing quickens, but is still so light. What has binding done to him?  
“What? Are you okay?”  
“Do it again.” He demands, releasing me. Confused and reluctant, I pat him again, lingering a moment longer. He shivers.  
“It’s called ‘affection’.” I joke, but then remember I’ve never actually known for him to make contact with people. He’s always so alien in this world. Next, he’ll tell me he’s never had a croissant, or something ridiculous. I try to pull away and give him space when I notice he’s on the verge of tears, his eyes becoming visibly watery and his bottom lip quivering. Stepping back, however, he leaps forwards and grabs me tightly. He’s so cold, but I hug him back. He’s shivering. I place a hand on the back of his head and stroke his hair. He’s burying his face inside my shoulder, and shaking violently. He freezes and pulls himself away, flustered.  
“Oh, I’m so sorry. It just felt really nice and I’ve never really hugged anyone before and-” I have to interrupt him before he can finish, otherwise he’ll just never let himself receive affection again.  
“Hey, don’t worry. It’s okay. You can have another if you want?” I offer. He’s staring intensely at the floor, almost apologetically. “If you stop binding for a bit.” I finish. Two birds one stone: he gets to take a break while also receiving the affection he really seems to need. He can’t refuse (but I wouldn’t put it past him to refuse anyway). He sighs something of a defeat, but doesn’t look up.  
“In that case, you’ll have to stand outside while I change.”

After a few minutes of waiting outside, he opens the door and I only notice that he’s also donned a grey NASA sweater before he drags me in, shuts the door, and returns to the embrace. I can’t help it: I kiss him on the forehead, and he truly breaks down. His knees give way so he falls, and I have to make sure he doesn’t just totally collapse on the floor. And I don’t let go. His face is wet with tears, and we’re sat on one of the few spots of flooring that isn’t plastered with paper, and he won’t let go. He’s a lot stronger than he looks; he’s squeezing me so tightly it starts to hurt, but I love him. Oh, that’s a problem isn’t it? I think I might love him, and here he is, his whole thorax probably painted in bruises, not having slept for days, and sobbing inconsolably while receiving affection for the first time- as far as I know- ever.  
“Deep breaths, Logan.” I remind him when I can feel his breathing getting twitchy. He sighs and settles down, and I wait for him to pull away.  
“Thank you.” He whispers. I can’t help it, I know it’s insensitive, but I can’t help thinking for what? For treating him the same way I would treat anyone else? For giving him what he needs? For doing what I’m sure he’d do for me? Instead, I simply accept his gratitude, fearful that any criticism will make him recoil again.  
“You’re welcome,” I say, “this is why I’m here. I want you to be happy.” He doesn’t say anything, but I can tell he expects me to continue. “If you could let me help you be happy, that would be enough.” Still, nothing. He hasn’t pulled away still, but I don’t think he’s crying anymore. “If I could give you peace of mind, would that be enough?” He seems strangely relaxed, too, and not holding me quite as tightly. I say his name, and no response. He’s actually fallen asleep on me, within minutes. I hold him firmly so as not to drop him, and carry him to the bed half that isn’t buried under a mass of paper. For a moment, I consider dropping him there and leaving, but then I remember how important this must be for him, to finally have opened up- and I just can’t leave him now. He’s light enough for me to slide on the bed while holding him with ease, and, after a few minutes, I fall asleep, too, with my best friend in my arms.  
I wake up before him, and I don’t know how long it’s been, but the room is dark and shows no sign of lightening up soon. It’s either not been very long and it’s just turned night, or it’s been a very long time and will be morning soon. Either way, Logan is still breathing steadily, which is good, because if it weren’t for his warm breath against my shoulder, I wouldn’t have any sign he’s still alive. He has remained in the same position I left him. I scoop him up and hold him tightly like a teddy bear. I fall asleep again.  
I awaken again at the feeling of him squirming in my arms. He yawns, and pulls himself closer to me. I reach to stroke his hair, accidentally startling him.  
“I didn’t know you were awake.” He giggles, such a contrast to how he was yesterday. I suppose all he needed was to unload everything he was holding back, and now maybe he’ll be okay. Or maybe, at least, he’ll start to be.  
“Well, surprise.” I tease. I can feel him smiling. He’s acting very soft now, and I really like him this way. I love him all the time, of course, but there’s something special now. It’s as if I’ve helped him be this way. Maybe not, but I’d like to think so. He’s very warm, and really cute- a great hugger, too, all things considered.  
“Your heart is getting faster. What are you thinking about?” He asks, his hand on my chest.  
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you- too cliché.”  
“Oh? Tell me, I’d probably believe anything right now.”  
“I was thinking about you.” I answer. There’s a pause, and I can feel him getting warmer.  
“Would it be a bad time to confess that I think you’re really cute?” He flirts, giggling.  
“Would it be a bad time to admit that I also think I’m really cute?” I mock. Overt self-aggrandizing statements have always been the subject of humour for me. As much as I joke, making such comments has really started to help my self-esteem. He should give it a try, too. Thankfully, he laughs- not just a giggle, but full, loud, laughter. He’s gorgeous. I love him.  
“I’m glad you know it. Truly.” He whispers.  
“Hey, Logan?” I say for his attention. Joke aside, I want to tell him how I feel, too. “I really like you, too. I know I joke, but… You’re so pretty.” I’m flustered, and blushing, and it’s made all the worse when his head perks up, he grabs my face, and just kisses me. It surprises me so much I don’t even move, he laughs and does it again, but I make an effort to kiss him back. I wish we could stay like this.  
“Why can’t we?” He asks.  
“What? Did I say that out loud?” I stutter, and he laughs again.  
“You did. But I’m glad you did, I want to stay like this, too.”

So we did. I never actually found out what he was writing, but now, when he’s writing, he lets me see. It’s usually a science essay or something I don’t understand. I guess he was right to presume I wouldn’t know from the start, but he likes that I let him talk about it, and I like having his around. It’s a strange dynamic, but it works. And I still get as flustered when he kisses me as I did the first time. And it still makes me just as happy.


End file.
